Photographic Evidence
by sara-cupcaked
Summary: Is a picture is worth a thousand words, or maybe, a thousand regrets? GSR.


**A/N: **Probably the hardest story I've written to date and it was really emotionally-draining somehow. The longest single-chapter story I've ever written too. My beta loved it however, which is something _really_ very rare. I hope you will enjoy it as much as GER and as I did. :D  
I don't own anything associated with CSI.

Reviews make my day :)

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**Photographic Evidence  
**

"The rain literally washed away my crime scene in under four minutes, leaving me with one hundred and six pictures to work with instead of an actual crime scene." Catherine broke eye contact with the soundless man across her and sipped her frothy cappuccino before continuing. "All I have left of the case is photographic evidence. _And_ I have 72 hours to build a case," she concluded with a small sigh, watching him raise his teacup and taking a sip before looking calmly at her.

"Grissom, any thoughts?" she asked, speaking a notch louder than the other guests in the coffee shop, causing the people on the only other occupied table to glance curiously at her.

He looked at her with concealed amusement, but turned to look outside the wide windows that showed a calm, sunny day and sipped his tea again before starting quietly.

"My flight was in twenty minutes, and neither one of us was going to give in. She wanted us in that booth, and for every reason she had on why we should be in there, I had an excuse on why we should be out. With the minutes wasting away, I finally gave in and was pulled into one of those instant photography booths. It smelt like stale cigarette smoke and bubble gum."

"_Grissom, come on!" she said through her laughter, and with one hand on my arm, the other pulled open the dull, cracked velvet curtain, revealing a singular stool in a tiny enclosed space._

"_I'm paying, keep that." I instructed sternly but with a smile at the outstretched notes in the hand, and pushed in three wrinkled dollars into the slot. The bright red light clicked on, stunning us momentarily._

"_Instant memories," she remarked, her face inches from mine as the place was plunged into darkness._

"The stool was clearly made for one person, but we managed to share it, backs pushed right against the corners." He paused and sipped the remainder of his tea, catching sight of Catherine's bemused but interested expression.

"Ten minutes and countless flashes later, I forgot all about the smells in there. The place was filled with this new scent – something like honey-scented milk. Before I could pinpoint where it was coming from, the lights flashed on and I was being pulled out behind her to collect our pictures, those instant prints."

"_These are nice," she gushed, looking at each of the five squares that housed our miniscule faces, the smile on her face incandescent._

"_Sara, my flight's going to leave if I don't start heading over to the terminal now," I said, checking my watch._

"_Oh, right. Terminal 3E isn't far from here. I'll walk you there." She said, looking slightly flustered and gave me a shy smile. "Here's your copy," she said, handing me the thin strip of photos._

_Taking them in my hand, I thanked her. I'll have the entire time in the plane to look at it, I told myself, and pushed it into my back pocket. We walked towards the terminal in comfortable silence, her arm bumping against mine, sending tiny jolts of electricity through me._

"_Terminal 3E," she said when we arrived, turning to me quickly with a forlorn look in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around my neck, a delicious honey scent wafting around, and I stood there startled but pleased. She let go, and I did something that shocked her, but it surprised me even more._

_I pressed my lips gently against her cheek, but dangerously near her lips. Walking away, I left her standing there, rooted on the spot with the pictures clutched tightly in her hand._

"I didn't have time to look at the pictures on the plane, and only when I was home I realised that they were not in my pocket. I could have dropped it anywhere from McCarran to the dusty interior of the taxi. Before I could give it much thought, Brass called me in right after my shower, a B&E."

He paused, and Catherine caught a slight flicker of built-up emotion behind those blue eyes. Regret? Frustration?

"Grissom," she urged him on gently, her tone soothing. He turned and looked at her, before nodding briefly and continuing.

"I was clearing out Sara's bedside table – I guess she didn't have any time to take anything with her before she left. Her side was always bare, housing only the objects she used daily. It was Spartan-like, almost, compared to my side." A smile crossed his lips, and she couldn't help but grin too. It was always the little details that mattered to him, and that small window into his private life was heartwarming.

_White knuckles on the headset were the only sign of my worry as I stood waiting, hoping she would pick up this time._

"_Sidle."_

"_Sara, where are you? Are you alright?" My tone was more panicky than I thought it was, as she responded in a soothing tone like one would use on a three year old._

"_I'm okay, don't worry. I'm at McCarran."_

"_Running away from your problems is not going to make them go away. Stay, and I can help you." I instructed, my concerned tone betraying my calm words._

"_I'm not running away – I'm just stepping back, to analyse them. Goodbye doesn't mean forever, if it's any consolation for you."_

"_It's not, Sara. I miss you." _

"_And I love you."_

_The line went dead, and I didn't even try to sort out my emotions. I contemplated having Brass track down the flight she was taking, but in the end, I pushed that thought out from my mind, reached for the cardboard box and walked into the bedroom._

"A vintage alarm clock, an almost empty bottle of body butter, cherry Chapstick and the most worn hardcover copy of _Lolita_ I've ever seen. It's her favourite book and she read it almost everyday, even with the shelves filled with Shakespeare and Wilde. All of them went into that unmarked cardboard box. _Lolita_ was the last one in, and I noticed something between the pages. Stuck between pages 234 and 235 was a thin strip of wrinkled pictures, edges yellowed and worn."

He finished his tea, and Catherine exhaled. She didn't know she was holding her breath; being given a glimpse into Grissom's private life was somewhat mind numbing.

He turned to her, eyes losing their glazed look and a tiny frown falling across his brow. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. Please, continue." she reassured him.

"I couldn't believe she kept it after all this time – I've never seen her look at it before. It was obviously handled a lot; there were small tears along the edges. Lifting the strip to the light from the window, revealing that glint in my eyes, that curve of her lips. I finally saw what I was supposed to see years ago, signs that I have never noticed before in myself and in her."

Grissom sighed and closed his eyes, regret filling the air around them like a thick unsettling fog. She was worried he wasn't going to complete the story, but he started again, eyes closed.

"So far, I have only two regrets – Warrick's death, and this. If I had held on to those prints, I would have seen the signs – the one that showed my longing for her through my eyes, and that smile of hers that concealed something so fragile. Those five squares showed me what I have been denying ever since I got onto that plane, foretelling her departure even, in a way."

At that moment, Catherine leaned over and placed her hands around his, squeezing it gently.

"A picture is worth a thousand words, Catherine." He sighed slightly and gave her a tiny, sad smile. "Did I answer your question?"

"In more ways than one, Gil," she whispered, surprised at how his eyes still twinkled with that sad smile and at her own throat seizing up. "In more ways than one."


End file.
